We had "that" kind of week this week.
You know the kind I'm talking about?
The one where the youngest doesn't feel well and the older two ask so many stupid questions that you can literally feel your brain cells deteriorating. (Questions like, "Mom, is this a hot dog on my plate?") I had teachers growing up who told me there was no such thing as stupid questions. I realize now that they were clearly childless. Bless their hearts.
In case you happen to be one of those moms who never has this kind of week and finds every moment spent with their cherubs a true blessing, I feel this text sent to my husband best describes the feelings of other moms like myself:
And this is the part where my husband rocks.
He came home from work on time, swooped in and dragged two boys from my lap, told the children to pretend I was invisible for the rest of the night, and convinced me that running in the rain was a swell idea.
And I'm talking pouring down thunderstorming kind of rain.
And I got out there and felt like a badass Olympian. Unfortunately I looked more like a sopping wet geriatric chimpanzee who struggled up the hills, but no matter, it did the trick. I came back and felt rejuvenated. I think we just might survive the last two weeks yet.
Truth? This parenting thing is hard.
Truth? I wouldn't trade my life for anything. It's just that sometimes an hour of dodging lightning is more appealing than staying home to feed the kids dinner.
Truth? These people are crazy but I also love them like crazy.
And (the majority of this week excluded) I also find them to be pretty stinkin' cute.
Most of the time......
And yes, it was a hot dog on his plate. The same kind of hot dog that we've had at least once a week for the past six years of feeding the kids hot dogs.